


From What I've Tasted of Desire

by StarksInTheNorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Miscommunication, Post-War for the Dawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 04:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21469822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarksInTheNorth/pseuds/StarksInTheNorth
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen heads North on a journey that's meant to bring her home a bride. Instead, she ends up playing matchmaker between her stubborn nephew and his beloved cousin.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 130





	From What I've Tasted of Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: 
> 
> Daenerys POV: “She had no intention to marry yet she needed a heir and wanted a family. Her nephew refused to leave the North and marry so she travels to get him. Yet, everything makes sense the moment she sees his cousin. She was the kind of woman who won wars; the Lady of Winterfell is the kind of woman wars would be fought for, and the moment she sees the look of utter adoration he gives her she knows she has to make them marry.”

The flight is only two days and nights, but the preparations to leave take nearly a week because her seamstresses must make her a wardrobe for the colder weather. Daenerys does not expect to be in the North longer than she must, but her nephew can be so very stubborn and so she flies there expecting the worst. 

The entire flight, winds whisper through her free flowing silver-white hair and raise goosepricks along her skin. The North is not her favorite of her kingdoms, but it is not the worst of them either, beautiful in its vastness and fierce in their protection against their enemies. Dany watches over Drogon's side with awe as the grassy hills and plush valleys of the Riverlands roll beneath his wingspan, slowly turning into the mountains of the Vale to the east and marshlands of the Neck to the west. And finally, the great moors of the North and the snowflakes that swirl with every beat of dragon wing and settle in her hair like a natural crown.

By night, she sleeps in her saddle, secured tightly with belts and contraptions of Tyrion's design. By day, she dreams of the family she would have known if life were different. Her father, burning with a madness she is glad to have escaped, her mother, sweet and kind and dead before she could love her daughter. Viserys, the only one she truly knew, and Rhaegar, the brother she always wished could come and protect her from Viserys when his dragon-vengeance awoke. 

She wonders after her nephew, too, the living one and not the dead. Jon Targaryen looks nothing like her, she knows, but he is still family and a Targaryen alone in the world is a sad thing. She wonder if he feels alone though, surrounded by the Starks of his mother, and questions what they have in common. Some people suggested that they have the same nose, and that the pair possess a similar dimple in their foreheads when they concentrate deeply. Yet, there is something so non-Targaryen about a man who prefers the cold of the North against the hotter clime in the south, that it makes her wonder if he is truly a Targaryen at all, or if she accepted his brother's pronouncement only because she is so desperate to have a family.

The North sprawls beneath her and Drogon, a wreckage of dead bodies and still-smoking fires, crumbling buildings and melting snows that will not disappear fast enough. When finally the Night King and all his icy comrades fell, melted away under dragon steel and dragon fire, it took her no time to leave the barren wasteland of snow and ice, leaving it’s reconstruction in the hands of the direwolves of Winterfell, to claim her kingdoms from the Lannisters and free the people from the madness of a golden queen.

The Starks have reforged their kingdom before, when the Long Night fell in millennium past. Dany escaped the cold with the certainty that Lord Brandon and his sisters will build the kingdom up once again and rule it wisely and exert the Queen's Justice as needed. Yet Jon remains in the North, a true Winter Prince as the smallfolk sing of him, a decision that baffles the Dragon Queen. 

Drogon lands in the open fields south of the winter town, the power of his wings forcing back snow and dead grass to disperse around them. As she descends, Daenerys determines that she will not leave the North until she has seen what keeps her nephew here. The North is still a part of her kingdom, despite its separation and great distance away, and so she should know it like she knows Dorne and the Reach, the Vale of Arryn and the Riverlands.

Only little Lady Arya comes to greet her, guiding a free horse for the queen to ride. Arya gives a cocked half-grin as Daenerys disembarks. “Welcome, Your Majesty.”

“Hello, Arya.” They have met before, and Dany knows Arya detests her part to play as a Lady. It was with great awe in her eyes that Arya had met Daenerys and Yara and the Sand Snakes when they came to play their part in the War for the Dawn, to see warrior women unafraid to show their power and prestige with weapons. “Have you kept Dark Sister in good order?”

The Targaryen sword swings at the girl’s hip, polished brightly and well-cared for. Her brother found it beyond-the-wall and presented it to her. Dany never asked for it back because Arya is more equipped to handle the ancestral sword than Dany, wielding her dragons as weapons instead.

After Dany swings into her saddle, Arya guides Dany towards the castle, informing her of the situation in Winterfell, the concerns of the smallfolk about the barley harvest to come in a few months, the slow progress in reforging the Broken Tower, and the dozens of letters proposing alliances between North and South through Arya and Sansa's marriages. Arya rolls her eyes at that, not having any space to care for proposals when she has so much of her own projects, primarily training young girls to defend themselves in the new world they are building. Eventually, they run out of things to speak about that don't involve the reason Dany came North.

“I don’t know why he won’t come,” she admits under the force of Deanerys’ fiercest stare and quirked eyebrow glance. “We don’t necessarily need him, although it will be awful strange when he isn’t here.”

“Where is Viserion?” The Queen asks, realizing the noted lack of the other dragon in the sky or otherwise. Bonded to Jon though he is, she would have thought the dragon would have at least come to greet his brother and mother when they arrived. “Where has your cousin run off to?”

The rest of the family not being there, she understands. They place their duties first, these Starks, and she had asked not to let her visit disrupt the goings on of the castle. Bran is hard-put to leave without care from his attendants and Lady Sansa is always by his side, advising him on the ways of ruling. Her nephew’s presence, however, is dually noted. 

“Jon wanted to take Sansa out on a flight. They go every once in a while, and, well…” The ending is left empty: this may be their last one for a long while. 

Dany keeps her musings to herself as she is settled into the Lord’s Chambers at Winterfell, specially set aside for the Queen’s visit. She settles in the window seat to read a book on Northern history, snacking on a fresh tray of tarts and occasionally glancing out to observe the castle's goings on outside. She has a view of the main courtyard and sees as the pair of cousins arrive back to Winterfell.

Jon carefully helps Lady Sansa dismount her horse, setting a gentle hand upon her hip to stabilize her. Dany smiles as he offers Lady Sansa his arm and escorts her back into the keep, although the two look sad even from afar even though they spend time together. 

That night, her nephew appears at her door to escort her to the great hall for the elaborate feast prepared in her honor. Jon wears all black, a slight red tinge to the fur lining his cape. He stands still and silent, saying no more than a simple greeting. 

“How are you, Jon?” She asks, trying to get the man who would be her husband to speak with her. Dany smiles as he pulls out the high-backed chair and spreads her woolen skirts to settle into the seat.

“I am well.” He sits stiffly next to her at the high table. Daenerys does not understand his brooding features, for he was not so sullen when last they met. Nor does she understand the dark look in his eye, the look that instantly goes away when the Lady of Winterfell emerges at the end of the hall. 

The room falls silent then, every lord and lady’s eye turned onto their ruling Stark, the fire-haired woman who led them through the Long Night with kindness and bravery. Besides her comes Brandon Stark, the lord in name and truth, wheeled along by Lady Meera Reed. Yet it is Sansa they follow and Sansa they love, for Lord Brandon is silent and severe in a way unnatural for one so young, lost often in the powers that are only his and Lady Meera's to understand.

Sansa walks across the hall, stopping to greet couples and children at random intervals. She coos over a newborn babe, compliments the fine stitching on a lady's bodice, and inquires after the completion to a lord's fixed keep. Sometimes, all she does is lay a hand upon someone else's and offer a supportive smile before continuing along her route. Brandon and Meera arrive at the table long before Sansa, settling into their seats at Dany's left before she finally comes to curtsy before the queen.

Daenerys Targaryen is the kind of woman who wins wars; Sansa Stark is the kind of woman who wars are won for. And Dany's nephew, by the Seven, is smiling brighter than she’s ever seen him.

“Lady Sansa.” Daenerys rises to greet the other woman, and take her into an embrace. She feels Sansa stiffen, obviously not expecting the Dragon Queen’s touch. “You must tell me everything that has been going on up here. I fear your cousin is not in good spirits now.”

Sansa sits between Brandon and Meera and turns immediately to Dany. "Welcome, your grace. I hope your accommodations are fit to your standards. I left out a few books and baked goods I thought you might enjoy, but if there is anything else I can do to ensure your happiness, please let me know."

"Thank you, Lady Sansa." Dany says, and reaches to sip her glass of wine. It disguises her thoughts, as she considers what she has seen. It makes sense, why her missives summoning Jon south were all but ignored, why she had to come all the way North to coax him into her arms. For her nephew is in love with his own Lady already, and it will be a tale the bards sing for ages to come. "Tell me, how was you flight earlier today?"

Jon bristles in the corner of her eye, but she pays him no mind. At last, Arya stalks down the length of the hall and settles on Jon's other side and the feast commences. Throughout it, Dany pays careful attention to these Stark wolves and their Dragon. It is not just Sansa who brightens her nephew’s face, although he has a special twinkle in his eye that is only for her. 

When the dancing begins, Jon opens with his Queen but spends nearly every other moment on the floor stepping on Arya and Sansa’s toes. He laughs with Bran and chases after Arya and her companion Gendry, but his interactions with Daenerys are harsh and forced. His dance steps more careful, his conversation stilted, his laugh never ringing true.

_A Targaryen alone in the world may be a sad thing, but a wolfpack will suffice for company_, she thinks, a smile creeping on her face as he kisses Sansa on the cheek before dutifully offering his arm to Dany. "Shall I escort you back, your grace?"

She accepts and lets him guide her back to her chambers.

“So, I am sure you know why I have come, Jon.” She begins as they ascend the stairs.

“Aye.”

His responsive is gruff, but not unkind. Dany looks over at him and studies his beauty in the flickering torchlight from the sconces on the walls: the fullness of his mouth, the sharpness of his cheekbones, and the little upturn in his nose - _her _nose, for certain. She wonders if it is the same one that graced her brother Rhaegar's face, and curses the man who made it so she would never know.

Finally, they reach the top level of the keep and turn down the hall toward her chambers. “And what do you think of my reason?”

“I think you know.” He says, stopping before her door. Jon looks as if he would rather be anywhere else but here. Dany believes she knows _exactly_ where he wants to be: with the family he's always had the joy and privilege to know. Unlike her, Jon doesn't need to make a family of his own. He's always had one. She sighs, sadness and jealousy roiling in her stomach.

“Marriage is a way to cement alliances, nephew. Surely you must know this.” Daenerys knows she is playing with him, but she finds it somewhat amusing to see him bending to his duty and honor to her as his family first, before his own will and cares. Jorah told her the Starks were like this, all honor and duty and no joy, but this is the first time she has seen it in practice.

“It matters not what I know or don’t. Lords will play their games and rulers will have their way.” His words are blunt, echoing his disdain. Daenerys cups his cheek in her hands. They could have been a marvelous, beautiful pair, she thinks, but a very unhappy one.

She hopes he will let her into this family of his, not just as a distant aunt he doesn't understand. But maybe, once he realizes she doesn't want to ruin his life, he'll come to trust and care for her, too, the way he cares for Arya and Bran. She came here at first in hopes to build a family, but she would be accepting to join one, too.

A smirk blooms on her mouth, unbidden and somewhat unwelcome. “If you won’t marry Lady Sansa, I must insist you come to King’s Landing so we may find you a suitable bride.”

Jon recoils from her touch. “Sansa?”

“Well, yes.” Dany steps away. “If I remain unwed, or if I bear no children, you and your line will rule after me. For the realm's stability to be assured, you must have a family of your own. And that family should be with an ally we can trust, and who better than the Starks for that? I would suggest Arya instead, if you'd like, but she's quite taken with her blacksmith.”

“I thought-”

“Yes?” She raises a slim, white eyebrow.

He sighs. “I thought you wished to marry me.”

“I had considered it, it's true. But you look at her like she’s the only other person in the room, Jon.” Dany shrugs. "If she doesn't feel the same, or you don't want her, other arrangements can be made. I'm prepared to stay indefinitely, though, so its really up to you to decide."

Jon blushes scarlet, mouth still gaping like a fish. "I love her, yes, but I wouldn't want to threaten your own line."

"There's no threat, now that my small council has set strict rules for inheritance. Or did you not read my decree?" He shakes his head, so she explains. "I've adopted the Dornish way of things. My line shall come first, always. Boy or girl, my eldest child will be my heir. A child of the eldest child comes before their siblings, and any siblings come before any aunt or uncle."

"This changes things." Jon runs a hand through his dark, unruly hair. "You're sure you won't be upset, or vengeful, to not marry another Targaryen?"

Dany rolls her eyes. "So little joy has come from our family's practice of incest. My mother only had pain from her brother, and their parents' elopement caused a rebellion. Why bring such sorrow to a peaceful realm, when I can secure strength and ties with a wedding? Cousins in Starks ties us to the Riverlands and the Vale. Perhaps I'll find a husband in the Tyrell cousins or one of the distant Lannisters. You're not the only man who can make me a mother. But you are the only one who can make me an aunt."

"Do you want me to suggest it to Lady Sansa, or will you do the honors?"

Jon laughs, finally letting his true self show to her. He pulls Dany into a bear's embrace, crushing her against his chest. "I'll talk to her tonight, I promise, and let you know how she replies."

She wraps her arms around his back and nestles into the warmth of him. Mayhaps this is what its like to have a loving brother. "Thank you Jon. I better be invited to the wedding!"

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out and fangirl about Jonsa and other ASOIAF/GOT goodness with me on [tumblr](http://starksinthenorth.tumblr.com/).


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